


Penny Exchange

by Silbrith



Series: Arkham Files [11]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: Henry summons help from a different reality when Neal and Peter encounter minions of the real Azathoth.Arkham Files story #11, a blend of White Collar and the world of the Cthulhu Mythos.
Series: Arkham Files [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/480910
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Riverside Wormhole

**June's Mansion. Sunday, April 30, 2006.**

"Has Mozzie told you why he wants to meet with us?" June asked as Neal refilled her porcelain cup.

The two of them were enjoying coffee in the mansion's living room on a lazy Sunday morning while waiting for the man of the hour. Yesterday evening she'd attended the opening reception of Colombia's art exhibition for master's candidates. The paintings Neal had worked on for the past year were now out of his hands. If they passed muster with the review panel, he'd receive his master's diploma in a few short weeks.

Neal shook his head. "He was very mysterious about the subject when I discussed it with him at the reception. He mumbled something about time travel and wormholes but I was called away before I could ask him further. I'd hoped he'd explain at your after-party."

"He'd initially planned to attend, but he told me at the last minute that he'd experienced a eureka moment that demanded his attention." She gave a soft sigh. "It's a concern when Mozzie confuses his Arkham Files identity with his own."

Neal nodded gloomily. "I felt the same way at the time travel reference. I'm sure you remember what happened last December when he commandeered the Round Table to experiment on us." Neal didn't normally attend the writing group's sessions, but on that particular occasion he was invited to participate along with Peter and Henry. That alone should have raised his suspicions. A blizzard had been forecast, and sure enough, they wound up being snowbound overnight at June's mansion. That wasn't the issue—it would be difficult to find more comfortable surroundings to wait out a snowstorm. But Neal was convinced Mozzie had slipped a hallucinatory drug into the honey wine he served them. The taste was foul, and that night everyone had weird dreams about meeting their Arkham Files characters.

The dreams had probably been inspired by Mozzie expounding on a unified theory of literature. He proposed that writers didn't create stories but instead were subconsciously accessing alternate realities. Neal smiled at the memory of Diana's outrage at the notion. She found the concept insulting—a mockery of the effort she and the other members of the Round Table put into the tales.

"All I can advise," Neal said, "is to avoid drinking anything Mozzie brings with him. Also, don't let him near anything we might eat." He glanced at his watch. Mozzie said he'd be here in the morning, and he better hurry. Neal had a master's workshop on William Turner to prepare for. He'd been counting on spending his Sunday with the English painter, not sci-fi fantasies.

"There he is," June said, craning her neck to peer through the living room window that overlooked the street. "Why is he wearing a helmet?" She frowned worriedly. "And what does he intend to do with that pickaxe?"

Mozzie's choice of attire was always eclectic but even for him, this was an odd combination. Neal stood up to get a better view. "The helmet is equipped with a light. It's the one he uses for tunnels."

She exhaled slowly. "He did mention wormholes. Should I take it as a positive that he doesn't have helmets for us?"

Neal drained his cup and set it down. "I'd hold off on the celebration. They could be inside his tool bag."

June chuckled. "I wonder if it also contains a ruby crystal. As you know, many a wormhole has been created in our stories thanks to the miraculous properties of crystals."

"Perhaps he has a shining polyhedron like the one in the abandoned church." Neal smiled at the thought. "Mozzie's been researching ideas for a new story. He's decided a reenactment will help solidify the plot. That was Sara's suggestion when she heard about his time travel comment." Neal stood up. "I'll help him lug in his gear."

"Greetings, wormhole traveler," Neal said as he unburdened Mozzie from his pickaxe and bag. He noted the rough twill pants and padded jacket his friend was wearing. "Do you expect a rough journey?"

"We must be prepared for any eventuality," Mozzie confirmed. His face was flushed. Neal would have said it was from all the gear he was saddled with, but that glint in his eyes promised something more entertaining.

Mozzie's stride was unusually bouncy as he headed for the living room. When he spotted June, a wide smile spread over his face. "That chance encounter when you met Neal must have been foreordained by the stars! How else to explain that the three of us should now be poised to solve one of the world's great mysteries!"

June stared at him a moment, speechless. "I haven't seen you so excited since you heard about the discovery of the Nazi secret hideout in Argentina."

Instead of laughing at the comparison, he gave it serious consideration. "Yes, the two events are roughly parallel. If only Adler hadn't blown up his hideaway and along with it the secret Nazi lab that was undoubtedly installed in his basement, the world would now know what I've long believed. And yet, I stand before you with something even more earth-shattering."

"Which is?" Neal prompted.

"The Tudor Crown! At last, it's within our grasp."

_Not that again._ Neal had hoped Mozzie had finally given up on his quixotic quest.

"I don't understand," June said. "Since when have you been looking for it? At the time you inserted it into the Arkham Files storyline, you assured the Round Table that the artifact had been broken up during the English Civil War."

"I may have glossed over recent developments in the interests of confidentiality," Mozzie acknowledged cavalierly.

"Do you remember Charles Ireton?" Neal interrupted. June was genuinely curious, and at Mozzie's rate, the explanation would take all day. That Turner workshop was continuing to beckon to him. If Mozzie was on another fool's errand to find the lost artifact, he should count Neal out.

"Wasn't he the nineteenth-century ghost who haunted the Columbia tunnel network last fall?" June asked.

"That's right. Mozzie connected him to the Culper Ring of Revolutionary spies and through them to the Illuminati. He believes Charles Ireton was a descendant of Henry Ireton, a general under Oliver Cromwell who was responsible for breaking up the crown."

"Only he didn't!" Mozzie insisted. "Instead he passed it to his son. The Illuminati have been safeguarding it since their formation in the eighteenth century." He struck a pose that reminded Neal of Basil Rathbone's depiction of Sherlock Holmes. "It is my hypothesis that Charles Ireton hid the crown in one of the old brick tunnels under the university."

"But you already made an exhaustive search," Neal pointed out. "You told me the crown wasn't there."

"And it's not," Mozzie confirmed. "One of the other members of the Illuminati chapter no doubt removed the crown for safekeeping. He could have feared that the tunnels would be damaged during one of the university's building projects."

"As I recall, Ireton was a resident of the mental health facility which used to exist on the site," June said. "The Bloomingdale Insane Asylum I believe it was called."

Neal nodded. "It's telling that Ireton was pronounced insane." He restrained the impulse to add that Mozzie might have incurred the same fate if he'd been living back then.

Naturally, Mozzie ignored Neal's comment. Instead, he plunked down next to June on the sofa. "I found a list of names written in Illuminati code in Ireton's hideout and was able to trace one of the names to his descendant Joseph Bassus." He tapped his nose. "He was killed under mysterious circumstances in 1982. I spoke with his daughter—a charming woman and quite a bibliophile. Through sheer good fortune, she kept her father's sizable collection. He owned a book on the history of underground construction in New York City." He locked his eyes on June. "You realize the significance of that, don't you?"

"He was also interested in the Columbia tunnels?" she hazarded warily.

"Not just them, but the cow tunnels and the old subway tunnels. The inescapable conclusion is that he too was looking for the crown. Armed with fresh enthusiasm, I donned my Marvin Goldblum persona."

Neal murmured in June's ear, "Civil engineer extraordinaire."

She smiled. "An ideal profession for a wormhole traveler."

"Precisely," Mozzie gloated. "Yesterday, in searching through old inspection records, I discovered the elusive unicorn, and to think I've unwittingly walked over it many a time." He looked expectantly at Neal and June. When they didn't immediately shout "Huzza!" he added impatiently. "The tunnel I've been looking for. It starts here! At this very mansion."

June laughed. "Are you talking about that old Prohibition-era tunnel?"

"Why haven't I ever heard of this?" Neal protested.

"It wasn't intentional," she said. "It's a feature I rarely think about. The original door in front of the tunnel is still in place but it opens onto a bricked-up entrance. Supposedly the tunnel extended to the Hudson River. It was probably used either to transport illegal booze or cigarettes. The house was completed in 1909. It was owned by Morris Schinasi, who made a fortune in the cigarette industry. Some think he may have sneaked in Turkish tobacco illegally to avoid paying import duty."

Mozzie smiled. "A man after my own heart. Civil records indicate that although the tunnel was sealed, it likely remains in excellent condition. All we need to do is break through the wall."

"But why do you think the crown is there?" Neal protested.

"Its proximity to Columbia University is suggestive, but the most compelling evidence is that when the tunnel was sealed in the 1930s, the civil inspector responsible for certifying its condition was none other than Frederick Bassus." Mozzie beamed at them happily. "I rest my case. Now to open a tunnel!"

June glared at him. "If you think I'll let you demolish that brick wall with a pickaxe, you've got another thing coming. There's no telling what might be behind it. You could cause structural damage to the house."

"June, where's your sense of adventure? We're on the cusp of one of the most significant discoveries of all time!"

She shook her head adamantly. "Even if it's accessible, it's bound to be far too unstable to enter. And I promise you there aren't any wormholes to different times or worlds inside."

He scowled. "Surely you didn't take my comment about wormholes literally. I was speaking metaphorically about our attempt to recover a priceless artifact."

June had a no-nonsense look about her that indicated she wasn't budging. But if she didn't, she'd run the risk of Mozzie sneaking in on his own. "How about a compromise?" Neal suggested. "I happen to know of an expert bricklayer. He's also extremely discreet."

"Are you referring to Tiny?" Mozzie asked. "I already checked. He's unavailable."

Tiny was a man Mozzie employed for clandestine construction. He'd built Mozzie's bunker in the basement of the Aloha Emporium and undoubtedly had helped on many other projects.

"I'm talking about Peter," Neal explained. "His dad was a bricklayer and Peter worked as one during the summer breaks when he was at college." He turned to June. "Will you allow the exploration to proceed if Peter says it's safe?"

June agreed readily. Knowing how much a worrier Peter was, she probably believed the odds of Peter going along with the project were in the cellar, literally and figuratively. But Neal sensed Peter's inner kid might not be able to resist the adventure.

Mozzie, however, continued to frown. "Can a suit be trusted with the secret of the crown?"

"He already knows you're searching for it, and hasn't reported you to the Queen," Neal pointed out.

Mozzie hesitated, mulling it over. "He also hasn't mentioned a word about it to me. Impressive. Very well, he may assist."

Neal seriously doubted the Tudor Crown was present, but any tunnel used for smuggling could hide secrets. The cavity Mozzie was sure existed reminded Neal of the niche he'd found in an old brick tunnel at Columbia University. He'd appropriated it to stash a pair of magnificent diamond earrings that had once belonged to Marie Antoinette. The con involving them was a success, and the diamonds were returned safely to their owner. But if disaster had struck, those diamonds could have remained hidden for centuries, waiting for some intrepid explorer to discover them. Suddenly working on the Turner workshop didn't hold much appeal.

#

Peter put his hands on his hips and surveyed the wall. El was spending the day managing a reception, and this was far more entertaining than the crossword he'd planned to work on. He'd brought his Lab Satchmo with him as the official tunnel mascot.

"Wait," Neal said, holding up a hand. "Before you demolish the wall, we need to photograph it."

"Good idea," Mozzie agreed. "If Arkham Peter the archaeologist were here, he'd insist upon it."

"June, do you want the wall replaced afterward?" Peter asked, not commenting on the mention of his Arkham character. Mozzie had been known in the past to adopt traits of his counterpart, the irrepressible astrophysicist Dante Atwood. If this was happening yet again, he'd be even harder to restrain. On the other hand, if Peter was completely honest, he'd have to admit he was starting to feel some of that archaeologist adrenaline surging inside him.

She considered for a moment. "Yes, I believe it will have to be. The air inside the tunnel probably isn't healthy. We know the exit at the Hudson River is presently buried underneath Riverside Park."

"Your pessimism is unwarranted," Mozzie chided. "Those old bricks weren't airtight. I'm sure some air is circulating."

"Stop right there," Peter ordered. "No one will be allowed to enter without a gas mask. Agreed?"

"If you insist, but someone will have to forego the pleasure of exploring the tunnel," Mozzie warned. "I only have three gas masks."

June promptly raised her arm. "I'm happy to remain on the outside. I have my cell phone and 911 is on speed dial."

Peter had brought along a masonry hammer, chisel, and drill, as well as a tarp to protect June's floor. His prediction that the wall would be trivial to open turned out to be accurate. The wall was only one brick thick and had been inexpertly made. The masonry had already fallen away in spots. Although he didn't mention it to Mozzie, likely some air had seeped in, making conditions not as hazardous as they could have been.

Neal peered into the blackness. "This is probably the closest I'll ever get to a wormhole. I wish the other members of the team were present. Sara and Henry would love to accompany us. There's no chance of Sara being able to fly over from London, but I assume no one objects if I contact Henry?"

"Go ahead," Mozzie said with a wave of approval. "Since Arkham Henry participated in the mission to Elizabethan England, Henry's earned the privilege. But tell him he'll need to join us inside the tunnel. I'm not waiting any longer."

While Neal called, Mozzie pulled out the gas masks from his canvas bag. Henry and Eric were having brunch at a SoHo restaurant but promised to come over as soon as they were done.

Neal eyed his gas mask skeptically. The full hood was made of olive-green coated fabric and had bulging eye disks. "This looks like something an alien would wear. Are you sure I wouldn't be safer without it?"

Peter chuckled. "You have a point. On the other hand, if Azathoth and his minions are lurking inside, they'll greet us as friends."

"These are the finest Polish surplus respirators money can buy," Mozzie retorted, bristling.

Peter and Neal exchanged grins. Peter found it increasingly difficult to hide his excitement, and Neal wasn't bothering to try. They were starring in their own Arkham Files adventure, and, okay, all they'd find would be dust and cockroaches, but until they stepped inside, no harm in daydreaming about a more thrilling outcome. As for Mozzie, visions of the lost crown had transported him into a feverish euphoria.

They slipped on their gas masks and grabbed their flashlights. Before they plunged into the unknown, June insisted on photographing them once more. Peter realized those photos would likely make him the butt of office jokes for years to come, but what the hell, it was worth it.

The brick tunnel was every bit as grimy as he'd expected. The floor was made up of large paving stones. The tunnel was barely large enough for a hand cart, bolstering the evidence that it had been designed for smuggling contraband.

"Check the bricks for any sign of patching," Mozzie ordered, his voice oddly distorted by the respirator. "Peter, this is your area of expertise." He clapped his hands. "Chop, chop!"

Neal gave Peter an exaggerated shrug and started tapping bricks. Could an artifact really be hidden behind one of the bricks? Peter, with an effort, suspended disbelief. Neal channeled different personalities. He should too. After all, he'd been dubbed the Archaeologist at Quantico. If ever there was a time to immerse himself into the role, this was it.

But as Peter scrutinized the bricks, he was more intrigued by what the tunnel had actually been used for. Contraband liquor was his favorite hypothesis, and that made him wonder just how many other abandoned tunnels lay underneath the city.

A half-hour later and Peter was ready to abandon the effort. The gas mask was heavy and uncomfortable. Although Mozzie had tested the air and it wasn't toxic, Peter wasn't willing to take a chance. Mozzie would need to continue his quest elsewhere. 

Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. A faint scurrying sound. Hearing was difficult through the mask. Perhaps he'd imagined it. Rats were likely present.

Suddenly Mozzie let out a shriek at banshee levels. "Zoogs! Run for your lives!"

#

Henry and Eric had just ordered brunch when Neal called with the news of an abandoned tunnel leading from June's house. Despite the lure of the unknown, Henry saw no reason to rush. They'd brought the _New York Times_ to the restaurant to read during their meal. The tunnel could safely wait till they were finished. Besides, Neal knew that, base case, Henry was no fan of tunnels—they were too closely associated with ghosts. And now that, thanks to the Winchesters, Henry knew that ghosts were real, he liked the underground even less. It was only about a year ago that he'd helped rescue a drugged and feverish Neal from the university tunnel system. Neal had cheated death on that occasion. There was absolutely no need to tempt fate again.

To his credit, Neal had ever since been more circumspect in his underground explorations. The current escapade had been at Mozzie's urging. Fortunately, Peter was along to prevent any disaster. It was probably safe . . .

"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Eric said.

"It's that obvious?"

Eric gazed at Henry's dessert pointedly. "Especially since you've barely touched your chocolate croissant bread pudding."

Henry frowned at the traitorous dish and attempted to fake a confidence he didn't feel. "Peter should ensure their safety."

"But it's a tunnel. And it's Mozzie." Eric chuckled. "That hombre is a magnet for weirdness. Why don't you give Neal a call? You can explain that you're simply giving an update on our arrival time. The service here has been unusually slow."

"Ingenious plus it wins extra points for being the truth! No wonder I fell in love with you."

Eric grinned. "Yeah, I'm irresistible, and I'm expecting a demonstration of that later. But go ahead and call so you can eat your dessert in peace. Then we'll swing by the loft and pick up Splash. She'll enjoy playing with Satchmo and Bugsy while we look for hidden treasure."

This was also a gentle reminder that their puppy was waiting for them at home while they were dallying over brunch. Henry had learned that a lonely puppy usually meant a mischievous puppy.

Neal answered the phone after the first ring. "I was just going to call you," he said. "We've got a situation."

Henry put the phone on speaker. "What kind of situation?" He braced himself to hear about a vengeful spirit haunting June's basement.

Neal was breathing heavily as if he'd been running, and he didn't scare easily. This was a guy who'd confronted witches and vampires, after all.

"Talk to me," Henry pleaded. "What happened?"

"We found creatures in the tunnel."

"Rats?" Eric hazarded. "They're common in any subterranean space."

"I wish," Neal said fervently. "But these had tentacles on their snouts." He lowered his voice. "They look exactly like Diana's description of zoogs."

Henry choked back a curse. "Are you sure?"

"Hey, one climbed up my leg. I know what it looked like! We managed to escape without being bitten. There must have been at least ten of them, but I wasn't stopping to count. We slammed the door just in time."

"How is this possible?" Eric asked, staring at Henry incredulously. "Zoogs are fictional."

Henry made a face and didn't answer. Had Lavinia known something like this would happen?

#

"You're telling me zoogs are real?" Peter demanded in disbelief.

Henry hedged for a moment before replying. "They shouldn't be in our reality, but ours isn't the only reality."

"I knew it!" Mozzie exclaimed triumphantly. "I insist on every scrap of information you possess. If only I had a way to wire myself to your brain." His eyes widened. "Do you know of one?"

Henry could sigh all he liked, Neal wasn't about to let him off the hook. Hadn't they made a pact to not keep secrets from each other? Apparently Henry had been sitting for six months on the mother of all secrets and hadn't breathed a word about it.

Henry and Eric had stopped by their loft to pick up Splash, giving the tunnel explorers time to clean themselves off. Everyone regrouped in June's living room where they were now holding an emergency council. The only carefree members were Splash, Bugsy, and Satchmo. In Arkham Files, Satchmo served as a watchdog against zoogs. Should they be relieved that Satchmo didn't appear to have a care in the world?

"I would have told you," Henry said, "but Lavinia made me promise not to, and let me assure you Miskatonic University's alien librarian is a thousand times more intimidating in person than in Diana's stories."

Peter took a glug of June's Italian roast. "You expect us to believe that those weird dreams we had last December about visiting our Arkham characters weren't dreams at all?"

"Of course, I don't expect you to believe me," Henry said, "but it's true. Arkham Mozzie explained it was to be expected that in an infinite number of parallel worlds exists an infinite number of alternative realities. In one of those, the world of Arkham as described in Diana's stories is real. Arkham Mozzie somehow managed to create a wormhole between his world and ours."

Mozzie beamed. "I always knew I was brilliant beyond my own imagining."

"I wouldn't crow just yet," Neal advised. "Lavinia was furious about what your character had done."

"And I, for one, don't blame her," Peter agreed. "It's no doubt because of his actions that we now have a tunnel full of zoogs."

June wrinkled her brow. "But how? There aren't any zoogs in that world. The zoogs are endemic to Tirelia, and it's currently inaccessible."

"And that doesn't help us with the immediate problem," Eric said, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "That brick tunnel could have cracks which would allow them to escape. Perhaps they already have. In the stories, they could be killed by guns, but we don't know what weaknesses they have in our world."

Neal scanned the group. "I don't suppose anyone has the number for Zoogbusters?"

Henry smiled. "As it so happens, I do." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a penny, and placed it on the palm of his hand.

"What's so special about that?" Eric asked, looking at him with bewilderment.

"Check the date," Henry said, handing him the coin.

Eric's eyes widened. "2012?"

"That's right," Henry said calmly. "This penny was minted six years from now and is proof that we visited the future." He shrugged. "I decided to bring back a souvenir."

It took a minute for that to sink in. Henry possessed evidence that they had visited another world and engaged in time travel. For once, even Mozzie was speechless. Then came the flood of questions as everyone demanded answers. As the initial torrent gradually eased, they returned to Henry's memento.

"If Lavinia is anything like the way Diana wrote her, she couldn't have been thrilled about your action," June commented.

"That's putting it mildly," Henry agreed. "I still can't figure out how she knew what I'd done. But since it had already happened and because she realized what an asset I was, she decided to let me keep the penny. She also spread some sort of goo on it—I don't know if it was algolnium-based or some other alien chemical. She told me if I needed help, I could use this. She cautioned that it would work only once."

"So we _can_ call Zoogbusters," Eric said, a smile forming.

"Great idea," Neal agreed, voicing his whole-hearted support. "Let Lavinia figure out how to get rid of the critters. How does the penny work?"

Henry winced "She didn't tell me."

Peter swiped a hand over his face. "I knew it was too good to be true. You said it only works once. If we don't perform the action correctly, we're screwed."

"Not just us," June reminded him, as if they needed to be told. "New York and potentially the entire continent could be at risk. We could be facing a global infestation."

"June's right," Mozzie said, his face unusually somber. "At this very moment, moon trees may be sprouting in rainforests across the globe. Zoogs could already be fermenting their moon-tree wine, infecting political and corporate leaders alike." He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Zoogs could have arrived months ago. That would explain many of the recent political events."

"Let's not get carried away," Peter said, glowering at him. "One crisis at a time. Any ideas on how to activate the device?"

Henry tapped the penny then held it close to his mouth. "Calling Lavinia. This is Henry in the year 2006. We have a zoog emergency on our hands." He paused to study the penny which continued to look completely ordinary. He then tapped it once more. "Please acknowledge."

Neal held his breath, but all he heard was the ticking of June's grandfather clock.

"Perhaps you need to hold it to your forehead and it will transmit your thoughts," June suggested.

Peter laughed. "Like Johnny Carson's Carnac the Magnificent? Henry will need a turban for that."

"We should try it," Neal suggested eagerly. "Leave no stone unturned. I'll get a towel."

Henry heaved a sigh, particularly when June declared she'd need to photograph him, explaining it was purely for documentary purposes.

"How about holding the penny to your temple and letting it transmit your thoughts?" Eric suggested. "In the stories, Lavinia jabs a finger into someone's temple to read their mind."

Henry grinned. "You realize you're saying that Lavinia gave me the psychic finger?" He chuckled. "She probably thought I deserved that."

"You did remove an artifact from a different reality," June reminded him. 

"It may be more than that," Neal said. "The Celaenians put my character through a series of tests to prove his worthiness. Lavinia could be doing the same with you."

Peter rolled his eyes. "So now we have to believe Celaenians are real too?"

"Of course, we do," Mozzie insisted. "Along with Meropians like Lavinia. Parallel worlds or branes, as many of my astrophysicist friends prefer to call them, have gained widespread acceptance. To not acknowledge their existence is equivalent to believing the world is flat."

Peter grunted. "You realize the corollary to your hypothesis is that the Ymar exist too. Azathoth and his fellow evil aliens aren't merely fictional villains."

June took a breath. "We should be prepared for anything. Zoogs may just be the beginning. Will a nightgaunt start flying through the house?"

Nightgaunts? Neal's imagination took flight. Lovecraft's version of dragons would be a welcome sight even if they had rubbery skin and possessed other rather noxious characteristics.

"Get cracking on that penny," Mozzie ordered. "Try rubbing it three times. The technique worked for Aladdin. It may work for you too."

A creative idea and it was faintly conceivable that since Lavinia was a shapeshifter, she could pop into the room like Barbara Eden in _I Dream of Jeannie_. But it quickly became apparent that Lavinia was not inclined to be Jeannie or even the blue-skinned jinn from the Disney movie. No matter what they tried, the penny remained mute. Henry even tried tossing it into the air. His flip of the coin was equally ineffective. And as Peter helpfully pointed out, even if Lavinia received the message, what could she do? How long would a response take?

In the meantime, the zoogs were likely still in the tunnel. Could they gnaw through brick? Diana had revealed very little about their intellectual capability, but they were able to parasitize a person's mind and could control human behavior. Keller had been controlled by a zoog. He was a scumbag in the stories but appeared completely human. For all they knew, zoogs might even reside within Azathoth's skull.

A few hours ago, Neal would have dismissed the presence of zoogs as too ridiculous to even be considered. But now that they had the penny as evidence, they were forced to accept that in some other reality Diana's stories were a factual depiction of actual events.

_Arkham Neal, where are you?_

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! This story is based on incidents in Penna Nomen's delightful story[A Caffrey Christmas Carol](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8907703/chapters/20405707). I was fortunate to have Penna's beta help in explaining the bizarre events taking place in Penny Exchange. Although it's spring in Neal's timeline, this story about a highly unusual reunion is appropriate for Thanksgiving. This week, I've written about "[Thanksgiving with Caffrey Conversation](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/11/thanksgiving-with-caffrey-conversation.html)" for the blog. Penna has also written a post. Hers is called "[Spending Holidays Alone](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2020/11/spending-holidays-alone.html)." Penna and I wish all who celebrate a very happy holiday._

_For trivia buffs: Neal and June met in Penna's story Choirboy Caffrey. The Nazi hideout was described in my story The Dreamer. Adler blew up his retreat in Nocturne in Black and Gold. The ghost of Charles Ireton haunted Columbia in Columbia Ghost Story. Neal hid the pair of diamond earrings in The Queen's Jewels. Neal's brush with death in the university tunnels was in Raphael's Dragon. As for Henry's flip of the coin, he couldn't resist a canon reference._

_The early history of June's home, known as the Schinasi Mansion, is true. The marble building is a New York City Landmark and is listed on the National Registrar of Historic Places. Once I learned about its tunnel to the Hudson River, I knew Mozzie would claim the feature for a story. Its time has come. The tunnel has still more mysteries to be revealed in next week's chapter._

_For background information about Arkham Files, visit the[Arkham Files](https://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/p/arkham-files.html) page of our blog which has short summaries of the stories._

_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Story Visuals and Music: The[Penny Exchange board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/penny-exchange/) on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: [pinterest.com/caffreycon](https://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/)_  
_Twitter:[@silbrith](https://twitter.com/silbrith)_


	2. Brane Drain

**Miskatonic University, Arkham, Massachusetts. Friday, April 2, 1976.**

"Did Lavinia explain what happened?" Neal asked Peter as they exited Wingate Hall.

"Not a word," Peter said, "but it must involve Mozzie since she told us to go to his lab."

Neal had found Peter waiting outside the classroom door when Neal's seminar ended. Lavinia had called Peter to request the meeting.

"I bet she's found another crystal," Neal guessed. "Henry will be beside himself if he misses out on a mission." Henry's former firm had asked for his help with a job in Bolivia. He wasn't due back for another week.

"He may be back before we leave," Peter said. "Any mission will require a certain amount of training."

"But if it involves time travel, it must be urgent. Last time we managed to get ready in less than twenty-four hours." It was late afternoon and the quad was filled with students leaving for the day. Spring had arrived early to Arkham with the first plum blossoms beginning to open.

"That had to have been an exception," Peter countered. "Preventing the marriage of a Renaissance monarch is surely a once in a lifetime occurrence."

"But what an introduction to time travel!"

Peter exchanged smiles with him. "And those Elnath crystals we brought back weren't bad souvenirs."

For Henry, whose resume was supposedly already filled with heists, the mission had been especially gratifying. The gem known as the Black Prince's Ruby, currently one of the jewels in the English Imperial Crown, was the same stone Henry had mounted in the Tudor Crown. Their SCAGR team had traveled back to the year 1569 to prevent a marriage between Queen Elizabeth and Robert Dudley that was being orchestrated by the Starry Wisdom cult. Neal and Henry had replaced the Elnath crystal in the Tudor Crown with an exact duplicate. The only difference was that their stone wasn't an organically-grown alien crystal. Whatever Lavinia had in mind could hardly surpass the thrill of that mission.

Mozzie's lab opened from his suite on the top floor of the Derleth Hall of Science. The equipment was mainly of Meropian origin. Even though Mozzie was an astrophysicist, he was hard-pressed to explain how the devices worked. Neal didn't attempt to understand the underlying gravity-wave technology. The key takeaway for him was that they were now able to travel from the lab to anywhere on Earth and to any date in the past.

"Take a seat," Lavinia ordered brusquely when they arrived. Mozzie had recently equipped the space with an antique walnut trestle table. He claimed that the carved lion embellishments were in honor of Heinrich Agrippa who once possessed the armillary sphere and had lived in Lyon. The armillary sphere rested on the center of the table. The celaenite crystal at her heart that gave her life had been acquired during an expedition to ancient Egypt. Milly, as she was called, was now an integral member of the team.

"Will Sara and El join us?" Neal asked.

She shook her head. "Elizabeth is meeting with patients, and Sara was not invited." Lavinia locked eyes with Neal. "Sara must never be told about this meeting. You'll realize why soon enough."

What kind of mission had to be kept a secret from Sara? Was he supposed to seduce the hostile alien Yidhra? If that was the case, the mission was doomed from the start.

"Go ahead, Mozzie, tell them," Lavinia ordered. "This is, after all, your fault."

"Your assertion is totally unfounded," he protested. "If anything, it's—"

"Quiet!" she ordered impatiently. "You must accept that you're at least partially culpable for what could be the destruction of a planet. I hope this teaches you a lesson."

He waggled his finger at her. "I make no apologies for acquiring insights into how the universe works. Nor would any astrophysicist worth their salt."

Peter gave a slow sigh and directed his gaze to the armillary sphere. "Milly, what is the nature of the current investigation?"

"Another crystal has been found," she said in a warm contralto. "It is an exact duplicate of the one retrieved from the Tudor Crown."

"How were you able to discover it?" Neal asked. Milly located Elnath crystals based on their organic signature, but sifting through billions of signatures in any one second of time was beyond her capability. In the past, she'd only managed to pinpoint a location when Lavinia detected a time anomaly.

"I received a distress call," Lavinia said unexpectedly. "A wormhole has opened in New York City. Zoogs are already present. I had Milly run a diagnostic for the site in question and she discovered the crystal. Apparently, Azathoth possesses the technology to locate crystals as well. We knew the Elnath ruby you brought back from Elizabethan England was particularly valuable. Evidently the Ymar are also convinced of it."

Peter clenched his right hand into a fist. "What's the time period?"

Mozzie had been noticeably quiet after his outburst, but when Lavinia remained silent he said, "The year is 2006."

Neal stared at him speechless for a moment. "I thought we couldn't access the future." He turned to the armillary sphere. "Milly, did I misunderstand?"

"No, your information is correct but only within defined parameters. You cannot access the future of this version of Earth."

"This version of Earth," Neal repeated numbly.

"You shouldn't be surprised," Mozzie chided. "In Chapter 3 of my latest book, _Branes Among Us_ , I explain in layman's terms why an infinity of branes, or parallel worlds as they're commonly called, results in an infinity of Earths."

"I'm familiar with the concept," Peter said, "but I didn't believe we could travel to other versions of Earth. Can we?"

Mozzie cleared his throat. "We already did."

"And by your unethical activities, you likely precipitated the present crisis," Lavinia added sharply. "In early December, Mozzie experimented with techniques which led to the creation of a wormhole to a parallel Earth. The manipulation should never have occurred. I'd hoped that the damage would be confined to a few days, but I was wrong. Azathoth sensed the anomaly and is now taking advantage of it."

"Before we go any further, Neal and I demand an explanation," Peter growled. "Particularly as to why we weren't informed of this."

Mozzie started to speak, but Lavinia cut him off. It wasn't easy to determine whether Peter or Lavinia was angrier. Neal was more curious than anything else, and Lavinia's account of the incident filled him with even more questions. He remembered the unusual dream he'd had but it had been shortly after their trip to Lyon and he'd attributed it to jet lag. Mozzie had just started working with the Meropian scientist Pagna Desai. She was training him in the equipment which now resided in the lab, and, as Mozzie had said at the time, what scientist wouldn't have been fascinated by the possibilities?

The most troubling concept was that on this other Earth, people who resembled them had been writing what they believed to be fictional accounts of what had actually happened to Neal and his friends in Arkham. Mozzie dismissed the seeming outrageousness with the claim that in an infinity of possibilities, a similar situation was bound to happen.

And now this other world needed their help. Elnath crystals weren't supposed to exist in their world. This one had been caused by the earlier contamination and could be uniquely powerful. It might even provide Azathoth the means to escape from exile in Tirelia. No matter the cost, the alien couldn't be permitted to obtain it.

"You should leave as soon as possible," Lavinia declared and turned to Mozzie. "How long will it take you to prepare the equipment once I return your research and documentation?"

Mozzie waved a hand dismissively. "They're not necessary. I have a photographic memory and can recall every detail of what I did."

Lavinia arched an eyebrow. "Impressive. I see I'll need to take stronger measures in the future."

"I can leave immediately," Neal offered before they became embroiled in another altercation. "We'll confiscate the crystal and close the wormhole. Once the crystal is gone, the Ymar should no longer be interested in their world. But how will we explain our presence?"

"They are already aware of you," she said. "I feared that there might be repercussions from Mozzie's actions and left the memories of one person intact—Henry Winslow. He was the one who contacted me for help."

"Is he their world's version of Henry Chaseman?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "But we didn't realize it at the time. During the first incident, Neal didn't remember his childhood friend, and none of us had met him." She paused to study them. "I won't lessen the difficulty of the undertaking. You'll find it disorienting to be around people who appear to be your doubles, but there will be differences that will aid you. In that world, you're four years older. Your professions and life histories are radically different."

"We'll manage," Neal said quickly, eager to learn about an older version of himself. "But will you be able to pinpoint where we need to arrive?"

"That won't be an issue," Mozzie said. "I've already visited the premises. You'll find June every bit as charming as she is in our world." He glanced at Peter. "And your counterpart is just as much a hardnose."

"Peter, how soon can you leave?" Neal asked.

"I'll need a few hours. I want to see El. Our classes are over till Monday. We may be back by then, but just in case I should alert Eleanor."

Both he and Neal had backup instructors assigned for their courses. The university believed that he and Peter were on call to perform special assignments for the university's major benefactor, Gideon Talmadge. The rationale was correct as far as it went, but only their group knew that Gideon was an extraterrestrial. Like Lavinia, he was from the planet Merope.

"Once Milly and I have configured the settings, I'll be ready as well," Mozzie said.

"That's immaterial," Lavinia declared in a tone not to be contradicted. "You'll need to stay here and monitor the instrumentation. There will be no repetition of you working with the Mozzie of that world."

Mozzie's face reddened. "Lavinia, you can't do that—"

"Silence!" she thundered. "You have no concept of what I'm capable of." She turned her back on him. "Peter, do you have any questions?"

"Are you sure the compendium will work for us to return to this world?"

She nodded. "I already used it successfully during the first occasion, but I doubt Mozzie's com-links will function. You should assume that you'll be unable to communicate with us for the duration of the mission." She locked eyes with each of them. "Let this serve a lesson of the unforeseen complications that can arrive from travel between branes. As soon as you have secured the crystal, you must return at once. Any delay risks further contamination."

#

As the morning advanced with no response to Henry's appeal, June found it difficult to focus on anything other than the zoogs in the basement. Were they gnawing through the door even now? She regretted deeply that the Round Table writing group hadn't evolved them into cuddly, docile pets. 

"Neal, stop pacing," Peter ordered. "That's not helpful."

"We need to take action," Neal insisted. "We can't depend on Lavinia to rescue us. The magic goo on the penny may have already expired."

"Neal's right," Henry said. "Besides, we don't know the extent of the infestation. We need to reenter the tunnel."

Peter tightened his lips unhappily then nodded agreement. "Before summoning reinforcements, we should first confirm that the threat is real." He surveyed the group. "We've determined the air is stale but breathable. The gas masks won't be required, but anyone entering the tunnel has to be armed." He patted his shoulder holster concealed under his denim jacket. "That means I'll go in alone."

"Not so fast," Henry objected. "That penny wasn't the only item I brought from my safe. I have a gun too."

Neal exhaled. "Hold on a minute. I'll get mine."

Peter stared at him. "You hate guns."

"Yeah, but I'll make an exception."

"I didn't know you owned a firearm," Henry said, looking consternated.

"This is an antique piece Mozzie obtained for me last year."

"The Remington pocket pistol you used on Keller?" Mozzie asked.

Neal nodded. "It has sentimental value now. Against zoogs, it will be just as deadly as your guns."

_Or equally ineffective_. June didn't like the proposal, but she didn't have any other option to consider.

"All right, it's settled," Peter declared. "Eric, Mozzie, June—the three of you will serve as our support. If things go south, you'll need to contact the Bureau."

"You're not going in without me," Mozzie declared.

Peter frowned. "Yes, we are. I don't have any spare firearms."

Mozzie shrugged. "I came prepared." He reached into his tool bag and pulled out an old, battered handgun.

Eric's eyes widened. "What is that?"

"A vintage Bulgarian Makarov pistol," Mozzie said proudly. "This beauty has served me well."

Peter took a slow breath. "All right, you can come, but no one else. We won't be long. If there are zoogs, we'll beat a quick retreat and call for a SWAT team."

Neal shook his head doubtfully. "If we find an open rift to Azathoth's lair or the monastery on the icy plateau of Leng, we'd be better off calling Dean and Sam Winchester."

His words threw June into a panic. Why hadn't she realized that earlier? The presence of zoogs implied a wormhole from the planet Tirelia was present in the tunnel, and the only wormholes that Azathoth had opened in their stories originated in the frozen north. The priest in the yellow mask, Nyarlathotep himself, might be standing just inside the wormhole. Or those nasty cthyllas—flying octopuses with bat-like wings and paralyzing tentacles—could be swarming even now. When the Round Table had been dreaming up plots, they'd laughed over the creatures, never once imagining they could actually exist. If Mozzie's hypothesis of the Unified Theory of Fiction was correct, they could have been the unwitting creators of Earth's destruction.

Or were their imaginations simply playing tricks on them? Should she be terrified or laughing it off as a joke?

They trooped down to the basement. The dogs were left upstairs despite Neal advocating for Satchmo to accompany them. The dogs were as dejected at being excluded from the action as Eric was. Personally, June had absolutely no desire to explore the tunnel, no matter if it contained zoogs or rats.

As they approached the door in the basement, her confidence that they were making a zoog mountain out of a tiny molehill grew stronger. Those weren't really zoogs. It had been dark. New York City's rats could seem abnormally large under the right circumstances. They'd all have a good laugh about it in a few minutes.

Peter cautiously opened the door with his fellow Zoogbusters standing ready to blast any alien creature to oblivion. But no vicious tentacle-snouted marsupials exited the tunnel. So far, June's theory was holding up. She began daydreaming possible scenes for a future story based on the experience.

"Eric, close the door behind us," Henry said, his game face firmly in place. "Don't open it unless you hear us call out to you."

"Shouldn't someone with a gun stay outside in case the zoogs run past you?" Eric asked.

June guiltily ripped herself away from the plot she was building. Eric took the threat seriously. So should she.

"Excellent suggestion," Peter declared promptly. "Mozzie, you're the gatekeeper."

Henry chuckled. "You just don't want to be anywhere near that Makarov."

"Do you blame me?" Peter challenged. "At least you and Neal are licensed."

"I have a license!" Mozzie protested.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "In your real name?" At Mozzie's huff, he nodded grimly. "Gatekeeper, take your position."

With that, the trio of Zoogbusters entered the tunnel. Eric reluctantly closed the door behind them. June didn't know if she should be more frightened of Mozzie's ancient gun or zoogs. She began to relax after a few minutes when there was no sound of running footsteps, shouts, or pops of gunfire.

When the dogs started to bark, she offered to go upstairs to keep them company.

"Excellent idea," Mozzie said. "You'll be safer. Keep the door to the basement closed. If zoogs do get loose, we can't allow them upstairs."

June kept her snort to herself. With every minute that passed, she became more convinced that there was nothing to fear in the tunnel. If Peter hadn't been along, she could have easily believed that Neal was pranking Henry. 

She was surprised that the dogs weren't crowded next to the door when she opened it. Instead their barks were coming from the dining room. The staff had the day off. What had gotten them so excited?

She sighed inwardly. She knew she should have made an appointment with the exterminator. But she hadn't spotted a roach in months. Had a House Sparrow found a way inside? Just last month one had flown in when the windows were being washed. Sparrows, roaches, squirrels, rats—all were possible. But not zoogs.

As June approached the dining room, her stomach lurched at the sound of voices. In the excitement, they must have forgotten to lock the front door. Now strangers were in the house. Should she return to the basement and ask one of the men to check out the intruders? As she hesitated, Neal and Peter walked into the hall.

"Oh my," she murmured, growing suddenly lightheaded.

Neal sprang forward and took her arm. "Don't be frightened. We're here to help."

She stared numbly at him. He looked like Neal, but his hair was longer. Neal didn't shave on weekends. This Neal was clean-shaven. He looked like a college kid. Maybe it was the dark oxford-cloth shirt.

"I'm Neal Carter," he said, "and this is my colleague Peter Gilman."

"We apologize for the intrusion," Peter said smoothly. He had a deeper tan and thicker hair but otherwise appeared to be the same man. "We're here in response to a call from Henry Winslow."

June swallowed. "Lavinia sent you?"

Neal smiled, a look of relief on his face. "That's right. Is Henry here?"

"He's downstairs with your . . . " June stumbled over the words. How much did they know about their other selves?

"We already know about the existence of our counterparts," Peter said. "If you'd be so kind as to direct us to them—"

"Do you realize they're in a tunnel which may be infested with zoogs?" June blurted. As succinctly as she could, she related what had occurred.

"And Mozzie believes the Tudor Crown is in the same tunnel?" Neal asked incredulously.

"Yes, but he doesn't have any substantiating evidence," she said.

When she led them downstairs to the tunnel door, Eric did a double-take. "You do exist!"

"But not normally here," Peter said. "Who are you? I don't recognize you."

"Eric Vasquez. I'm Henry's boyfriend."

A smile broke out on Neal's face, but before he could respond, Mozzie grabbed his hand, pumping it vigorously then repeating the action with Arkham Peter.

"A true honor! Allow me to introduce myself since you may not remember our first meeting. Dante Haversham at your service. Please call me Mozzie. I feel as if we're close friends already." He peered around their backs. "Is Dante Atwood still upstairs?"

"He stayed behind," Peter said, scrutinizing Mozzie as if he were a newly discovered artifact.

Mozzie's mouth drooped in disappointment. "Is there any chance he'll come later?"

"Perhaps," Neal said, eyeing the door worriedly. "At the moment we have a higher priority."

"You sense a wormhole!" Mozzie said, his eyes bulging, and turned to Peter. "Is he glowing yet?"

Peter frowned. "You're remarkably similar to your Arkham counterpart, and since you seem to be so familiar with us, yes, he is casting a green aura."

A look of sheer joy transfixed Mozzie's face. "I knew it! I'll lead you to them. We must hurry before they are sucked into the frozen monastery of Leng. Follow me!"

June stared helplessly as the door slammed behind the travelers.

"What do we do now?" Eric asked bemusedly.

"What we should have done earlier. Call Diana."

#

Peter plunged into the darkness of the tunnel with Neal and their new friend. This version of Mozzie was conjuring up unhappy memories of the abandoned house in Arkham when their Mozzie darted off to chase zoogs. Peter suspected Haversham would be just as irrepressible.

"Watch out for alien creatures," Mozzie cautioned, staying close to Neal. "Have you detected any ghasts? Can I see your amulet?"

Neal hesitated then pulled it out from under his shirt. "On our world, it glows in the presence of ghasts. I'm not sure what, if any, abilities it has on yours."

The amulet retained its dull verdigris patina. It wasn't that impressive to look at, but Mozzie stared at it like it was the Holy Grail. Lavinia had provided bios of the people they were likely to encounter based on her earlier experience, so Peter was somewhat prepared. But even so, he found the situation unsettling in the extreme. The Lab was called Satchmo and looked like his dog, but it barked at him like he was a stranger. June resembled their June closely, but her mansion was grander by far than any house in Arkham.

He shoved those thoughts aside to focus on the immediate problem.

"Can you detect the source of the radiation?" he asked Neal.

"There appear to be two—the wormhole and the point source we'd discussed."

Peter appreciated Neal's caution about describing the crystal. Haversham was a thief of uncertain ethics. How he'd comport himself around an alien artifact was unknown. Milly believed the ruby was a duplicate to the Black Prince's Ruby in the Tudor Crown—a tempting target for anyone with sticky fingers. Did the man appreciate how dangerous the presence of the Elnath crystal was to his world? 

Neal jerked his head around as the pop of gunfire was heard. The sound was faint, at least a hundred yards down the tunnel. June had explained the tunnel was probably about five hundred yards long .

"Stop!" Neal shouted as Mozzie darted in front, tearing off at a faster clip than Peter would have believed possible.

Neal gave chase, quickly passing him. Peter was right at his heels.

"Go back with the others," Peter yelled to Haversham. "Leave this to us. Your gun will only work against zoogs."

"You're . . . stuck with me," Haversham panted as he tried to keep up. "This . . . could be my only chance."

_To see a wormhole? To be killed by a gug or another of Azathoth's enslaved creatures?_ Peter didn't attempt to reason with him. He'd learned from bitter experience that when his world's Mozzie was in a similar state, logic was a useless tool.

Neal had already sped ahead. Peter could see lights in the distance. The gunfire had ceased. Not necessarily an ominous sign, but his gut wasn't happy.

A blast of viridian light erupted in the tunnel. The last time Neal had glowed with such fire, he'd sealed a wormhole. Peter dug deep to run even faster.

"Where did Neal go? I can't see him!" Haversham wailed.

"STAY BACK! Those are cthyllas!" Peter slowed his pace. Neal was grappling with two of them. For now, he'd have to ignore the men lying on the floor. There was a flash of gold metal in the tentacles of one of the creatures.

"The Tudor Crown!" Haversham shouted. "I was right!"

Haversham ducked underneath Peter's arms before he could grab him and ran straight at the cthyllas. One of them flew toward the man and whipped a tentacle around his neck. Haversham dropped like a stone.

Neal held out his right arm and a stream of viridian-colored energy slammed into the cthylla. With a stomach-turning squelch, it dissolved into something resembling liquid mud. The other cthylla flew deeper into the tunnel with Neal racing after it.

Peter leaped over the bodies and followed. The rift was plainly visible. The cthylla plunged into the vortex even as Neal blasted it with another stream of energy. The rift snapped shut with a final blast of shimmering fire.

Peter was blinded momentarily, but he plunged forward. Neal would be exhausted by the expenditure of so much energy.

Neal was on his knees when Peter reached him. "Help me up," he panted.

"Not till you've had a chance to recover. While you catch your breath, I'll check on the others."

Peter did a double-take at the image of himself on the ground. Different clothes, but it was like looking at himself in the mirror. The victims were still paralyzed but their eyes were open. "Don't try to speak," Peter cautioned. "The tentacles of those creatures contain a toxin that renders their victims immobile. The effect should start to wear off within an hour."

Or so he hoped. On this world, who knew what the effect would be? Had they even seen the cthyllas? None of them had algolnium.

Peter swiped a hand over his chin. Neal had closed the wormhole, but one cthylla managed to escape, its tentacles wrapped around the Tudor Crown.

* * *

_Notes: It's not looking good for the home team. Zoogs, cthyllas, and one lost Tudor Crown. In Chapter 3, they'll have to cope with another curve ball._


	3. Switching Places

**Tunnel under Riverside Park. Sunday, April 30, 2006.**

With the immediate danger over, Neal had his first opportunity to check on the four men lying on the ground. All would require medical assistance. Their eyes were open, but they were otherwise immobilized. They reminded Neal of the way Peter looked after he'd been attacked in Azathoth's fortress. At least these victims were in much friendlier surroundings. But that didn't appear to reassure Peter who at the moment was focused on Neal's health, not that of the victims.

"Go back and inform June and Eric," Neal urged. "We'll need help to move the victims out of harm's way. My strength's already returning." He scrambled to his feet to prove it with only a few wobbles to mar the effect.

"What if the wormhole reopens?" Peter challenged, eyeing him dubiously.

"That's why I need to stay in the tunnel. We can plan our next step later."

Peter took a breath before answering. "I can't argue with your reasoning but don't make me regret my decision."

As Peter sped back down the tunnel, Neal approached the victims. They were all staring up at him, likely in disbelief, and he sympathized with their feeling of disorientation. He was looking at himself on the ground as well as Peter, Mozzie, and Henry. It didn't feel right to call them by the names of his friends, and never had he imagined he'd be able to talk to another version himself, but he'd have to save the metaphysical musing for later. "Your attackers were cthyllas. We've only encountered them once, but on that occasion the toxin quickly wore off. Hopefully, that will happen for you as well."

Neal's double struggled to speak. "Cr . . . crown?"

"The Tudor Crown? You know about that?"

Mozzie gave a low moan, sounding like a cat with a hairball.

Neal pointed to the section of the wall where bricks had been ripped away. "The crown contains an alien . . . um . . . gemstone that the cthyllas could sense. I could as well. When I arrived, you were already incapacitated. I tried to recover the artifact, but I was unable to break the cthylla's grip. I'm sorry to say the creature fled back into the wormhole with its prize."

Mozzie's moan grew even louder. Up to then, Neal had been unsure about mentioning it, but he couldn't stand to see the man so distressed. "However, all was not lost," Neal assured them. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the ruby, holding it up for them to see. "This is what Azathoth wants, and he's not getting it." He couldn't wait to tell Henry that his lessons in thievery had paid off big time.

He looked up at the sound of running footsteps. "Eric's fetching a wheelchair from the attic," Peter said as he drew near. "We'll use it to transport them out one by one. June's on the phone with Diana."

"She's a police detective here too?" Neal asked.

Peter smiled. "Even better. She's with the FBI, and she knows about us"—he winced—"as fictional characters. Diana's the chief writer of the series. I hope her powers of persuasion are up to snuff. We're going to need to erect a blockade around the house. Azathoth could reopen the wormhole at any moment."

"Not if this isn't here." Neal gave Peter the crystal.

His mouth dropped. "You salvaged it?"

"Yep, thanks to Henry's lessons." Neal noticed New York Henry twist his lips. Was that an attempt to smile? It was reassuring to have him here even if he wasn't Henry Chaseman. "Peter, you need to take this back to the lab. Once it's no longer in this world, Azathoth won't be interested in making another incursion."

"We'll both go."

Neal shook his head. "I can't leave them like this. Until Azathoth realizes the crystal is no longer in this world, he might reopen the wormhole, and I'm the only one who can close it."

Peter drew a breath. "All right, but I'll return just as soon as I've handed this over. Don't leave the mansion."

"I won't," Neal promised. "Ask Lavinia and Milly if they know of medication that will speed the victims' recovery." They appeared to be slowly regaining the use of their limbs, but their skin had developed an odd hue.

#

"It's not emerald green," Diana said, gazing at Caffrey's skin once more. "I'd call it more chartreuse, but, hey, you're the artist. You describe the shade."

And damn if Caffrey didn't try to talk, but no way was his throat letting him come out with anything but croaks.

June said the color started off as olive-green but became more livid as the day progressed. Diana had been on her way out of the apartment she shared with Christie when she received June's second call. That saved her from agonizing over how she could possibly keep the news a secret from her partner. Christie's medical expertise was now required. Fortunately, Christie was Diana's most loyal reader so Diana didn't have to explain who the visitors from a different world were. But as to what had happened on that December weekend to precipitate the events, Diana's own understanding was too fuzzy to be helpful.

In a very real sense, though, that was irrelevant. By the time she and Christie arrived, Caffrey had been transported via wheelchair to the loft. Peter, Mozzie, and Henry were all settled in bedrooms on the second floor. With Christie in charge of the patients, Diana could focus on Arkham Neal, the man she'd written stories about, the man who'd been in her head for over a year. She'd endured the icy blasts of Leng with him. Together they'd snuck through the fortress of Kadath. Presumably he'd confronted ghasts, zoogs, and nightgaunts. He'd gotten to ride shantaks just like her character. Diana did her best not to gush, but if she could adopt him as her younger brother, she would in a heartbeat.

He was even more adorable in person than she'd imagined. Those blue eyes and long wavy hair. No wonder he was irresistible to so many of the students in his classes. And right now, Neal was looking pleadingly at Christie, making Diana's heart melt even more.

"Will they be all right?" he asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Christie admitted ruefully. "All their vital signs are normal. I can't determine what's causing the motor difficulty and speech issues. Perhaps the blood samples will reveal something." But the doubtful tone in her voice made it clear she wasn't hopeful of positive results.

"I'm . . . better," Caffrey croaked from his position on the bed.

"Your voice is a little improved," Christie agreed, "but your skin color is brighter."

"Cheer up, Caffrey," Diana said, punching his shoulder lightly. "Haven't you always wanted to look like a frog?"

She turned at the sound of footsteps, and swallowed hard. Peter Gilman in the flesh. Was it the tan? The aura of an explorer? Whatever. He was a hunk. El was on her way. What would she say when she saw him?

"Did Lavinia have any suggestions?" Arkham Neal asked.

Ignoring the question, Gilman eyed Christie warily. "Have we met?"

"This is Doctor Christie Vintner," Diana said. "She's completely trustworthy. She's my girlfriend and knows all about you. I'm Special Agent Diana Berrigan, by the way. It's a pleasure to meet you." Diana stopped abruptly after the initial torrent of words. God, babbling wasn't the way to make a good first impression.

"Lavinia has limited experience with cthyllas," Peter said after a moment's hesitation. "She said the color is most likely transitory and will last for a day or two. If the other symptoms improve, she doesn't believe there's much reason for concern."

Diana's phone buzzed, making Gilman start. Of course, it would. They didn't have cell phones in the 1970s. He stared at her phone as she pulled it out of her pocket.

"I thought Mozzie said com-links don't work here," he murmured to Carter.

"He's probably right," Diana said, holding her phone up. "This is a mobile version of a telephone."

Both men watched her with avid attention as she answered the call, holding it to her ear. "What's up, Jones?"

"I've been trying to reach Peter. Elizabeth said he was visiting Neal, but neither one is answering their phones. Mozzie isn't either. Have you seen them?"

"I'm with them at June's." Diana paused. What now? Jones was a member of the Round Table writing group. He'd been present at June's house during that December weekend, but he hadn't drunk Mozzie's doctored wine and he hadn't experienced the dream, adventure, or whatever it was.

"Let me talk with Peter," Jones ordered. He was second-in-command and his imitation of the boss's no-nonsense style was improving steadily.

"Sorry, but he's not available." Diana cringed over what the right response should be. "Can I pass along a message?"

"Make it fast. Hughes called. The new art crimes boss will be in town tomorrow and she wants a demo of Caffrey's art heist workshop. Hughes will attend it too. He ordered me to pass on instructions that this better be the best one they've ever done. If Jemison's impressed, she'll be more inclined to let us continue to investigate art crimes."

Jones's voice was loud enough that Caffrey heard him even though her phone wasn't on speaker. When he croaked for a mirror, Christie handed him one. After one look, his groan was so loud that Christie ripped it out of his hands.

"What was that?" Jones asked, startled. "It sounded like a walrus."

_No, just an overgrown and very agitated frog_. "Jones, you need to come to June's. We've got a crisis on our hands and you've just made it a thousand times worse."

"What happened?" he demanded. "Is it Rolf? Has Cthulhu struck?"

Diana winced at the volume of his voice, and the Arkham men were eyeing each other worriedly. They probably thought it was the real Cthulhu.

"Diana, answer me," Jones barked. "Should I bring reinforcements?

"No to reinforcements, and no to sightings of Cthulhu." She turned to Arkham Neal. "I hope you're not planning to return right away. We need your help."

"Return where?" Jones demanded. "Who are you talking to?"

"Just get over here. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She ended the call before Jones could ask any more questions. Gilman was already shaking his head.

"I sympathize with your predicament but we can't linger," Gilman declared. "We'd run the risk of further contaminating your world."

"Aren't you worried that Azathoth could reopen the wormhole?" Diana asked. "You can't leave us in the lurch. It may take him a while to realize that the crystal's no longer in this world. You've got to help us, professor. You and Neal are our only hope."

She knew exactly how Princess Leia felt but by Peter and Neal's startled looks, they didn't. Diana groaned to herself. Stupid. _Star Wars_ hadn't come out yet. Their world had no Luke Skywalker, no Han Solo, no Chewie. How many years would pass? Would they remember her words? Yikes, had she contaminated the timeline even more?

"Peter, we owe it to them to at least listen," Neal urged. Meanwhile, Caffrey was growing more frantic by the moment. Christie ordered him to relax or she'd sedate him.

#

Of all the events witnessed by the house in its nearly one-hundred-year history, the drama that unfolded that Sunday was surely the strangest. Jones and Elizabeth had joined the others in the makeshift hospital. It reminded June of the way the great English country houses had been drawn into service during wartime. Every guest room she had was put into service. Elizabeth and Jones placed fresh linens on the beds while Christie examined the patients. Diana was dispatched to pick up walkers.

After a long afternoon of monitoring symptoms, Christie agreed that the patients were sufficiently recovered to attend the evening strategy session in the dining room. Most of them managed to shuffle along by using walkers but Mozzie required a wheelchair. Eric was Henry's designated caregiver and Elizabeth helped Peter. Arkham Neal was in charge of Mozzie, and Arkham Peter volunteered to assist Neal.

Dinner was courtesy of Elizabeth who ordered lasagna from a neighborhood restaurant. June's cheeks grew hot when she remembered how bewildered Arkham Neal had been upon hearing she didn't like to cook. She was beginning to seriously regret she'd ever endowed her character with the ability of a gourmet chef.

Of all the patients, the one who suffered the most was Mozzie. It was getting to the point June wished he hadn't gotten his voice back, squeaky though it was. Having the cthyllas snatch away the Tudor Crown was a bitter pill to swallow, and when Mozzie was in agony, he wanted the world to suffer along with him.

The cthyllas had sprung upon the Zoogbusters without warning while they were searching the tunnel. All it took was one touch of a tentacle to be paralyzed. The men remained conscious but could only watch helplessly as a cthylla used its tentacles to rip through bricks and seize the crown.

That no more zoogs were found was a small consolation. Apparently, the creatures scurried back through the wormhole to their master. Arkham Neal speculated that the zoogs had been sent in to serve as advance scouts before the cthyllas were dispatched.

Jones was still trying to process everything he'd missed. "How did an alien crystal wind up on Earth?" he asked.

Arkham Peter's lips tightened. "It should never have happened. Most likely it was due to the contamination which occurred when Professor Atwood created a wormhole between our worlds."

New York Peter leaned close to El. "In other words, it was Mozzie's fault," he murmured. "Isn't it always?"

Arkham Neal winced but didn't dispute Peter's comment. "In our world, we'd traveled back to the Elizabethan era to recover an Elnath crystal from the Tudor Crown in 1569. That incident somehow leaked into your world and merged with your Mozzie's search for the crown."

Eric crossed his arms. "In that case, the possibility of future anomalies exists."

"That's right," Arkham Peter confirmed. "And each additional moment we linger in your world increases the risk. Lavinia directed me to confiscate Henry's penny to help contain the damage."

"But you can't"—New York Neal's croak turned into a cough, and he stopped to take a drink of water—"I was trying to say you can't leave yet. Look at us." He held up his hand and grimaced. "We're the color of pond scum. Hughes has ordered us to give a workshop, but if we show up looking like this, the contamination will be ten thousand times worse."

"There's only one course of action that makes sense," Diana declared. "You'll need to switch places. While the boss and Caffrey rest, Arkham Neal and Peter will lead the workshop."

"You want me to lead a workshop on how to steal art from a museum?" Neal's look of dismay was echoed on Arkham Peter's face.

"Impossible," Peter said. "We don't know the first thing about thievery."

"Yes, you do," Henry rasped. "Neal's stolen the Black Prince's Ruby not once but twice. Both of you made off with the armillary sphere from Azathoth's fortress. You just need a little practice. You'll be fine."

"Absolutely not," New York Peter croaked, his green skin turning even more livid. "They don't know anything about modern technology. They'll have to familiarize themselves with laptops and projectors, not to mention learn our mannerisms. Jemison has already met us. She's talked with each of us at one-on-one sessions."

New York Neal looked at his boss with dismay. "So what do you want us to do? Lie?" His eyes grew enormous. "Peter, you must still be suffering from the attack because the man I work for would never _ever_ sanction lying to his superior."

His frustrated boss scowled at him. "You know that's not what I said."

"Then how do you plan to explain why you and I can't conduct the workshop?" Neal croaked. "We were in perfect health on Friday. I chatted with Hughes in the afternoon. Do you intend to tell him we're unable to meet with them because we look and sound like frogs?" The smart-aleck gave Peter an admiring nod. "A bold move. I'm not sure how Jemison will respond, but I admire your courage."

Elizabeth chuckled as she patted Peter's hand. "You really should consider having them replace you. They won't lie. They really are Peter and Neal, and I doubt seriously Hughes will ask them where they're from."

"We could design the workshop around the Egyptian galleries at the Metropolitan Museum of Art," Diana suggested and turned to Arkham Peter. "Some of them are constructed to look like tombs. You'll feel yourselves on familiar ground. Didn't you once mention to Neal and Mozzie that archaeologists weren't that different from thieves?"

June watched for Arkham Peter's reaction. That comment was in one of the stories Diana had written. Would he own up to it?

"I did say that," he said, wincing. "And it's our duty to help prevent the contamination from spreading. We'll stay for the workshop, but no longer."

"I suspect the men will be able to resume their normal activities within a few days," Christie said. "Most of the symptoms are lessening in severity."

"I'll coach Neal on how to be Neal," Henry croaked. "I have the most experience. I've already pretended to be him on numerous occasions."

"And I'll help Peter," New York Neal offered.

Mozzie rubbed his hands together in his first sign of enthusiasm since the attack. June breathed a sigh of relief that thoughts of the workshop had finally roused him from his despondency.

"I'll develop a list of heist options," Mozzie offered. "I've always wanted to break into the Met. At long last, I'll be able to, even if only on paper. We should use the King Tut exhibit which was held last year as the example."

"King Tutankhamun's treasures traveled to New York?" Arkham Peter asked, his expression a mixture of astonishment and excitement.

New York Neal nodded. "It was the highlight of last year's season."

"And one of the team's best successes," Jones said proudly. "Jemison will appreciate the sting against Keller."

"Keller?" Arkham Neal blurted out. "He's in your world too?"

"Yeah, but don't worry," Diana said. "Our Keller wasn't infected with a zoog . . . unfortunately. He's currently languishing in a prison cell."

"Is the Starry Wisdom cult here too?" Arkham Peter demanded.

"Not that we know of," Jones said, looking uneasy. June didn't find that comforting at all. Were nightgaunts next? Arkham Peter's concern to avoid further contamination suddenly acquired a more ominous significance.

Elizabeth took a breath, exchanging glances with June. She was just as concerned but they didn't have time to wring their hands about it. "We've had enough speculation for one evening. Our Arkham friends don't realize it, but my Peter is well known for his boot camps, and I hereby declare art heist boot camp in session."

#

Neal's heart lifted at El's words. She'd provide invaluable coaching help for Arkham Peter plus keep him from overreacting. As for Arkham Neal, much as Neal wanted to spend more time with him, he knew Henry was right. He was too disconcerted by looking at himself to be an effective instructor.

Although Neal might look and sound like Kermit, he was going to enjoy mentoring Arkham Peter. Neal had given art heist workshops to agents across the globe. The challenge for their stand-ins would be to get Hughes and Jemison into the correct mindset. Those two couldn't just sit on the sidelines. They were supposed to learn to think like thieves, and for that to happen, Arkham Neal and Peter needed to embrace their roles as well.

Henry and Peter worked with Arkham Neal in the dining room where Eric and El played the roles of Hughes and Jemison. Neal and Diana commandeered the living room for Arkham Peter with June and Christie acting as the students. Jones divided his time between the rooms, providing a crash course on Bureau technology.

Throughout the evening, Christie kept an eagle eye on the frogs, forcing them to take frequent breaks. Neal held out a faint hope that the discoloration would quickly fade, but by the end of the evening he was still the color of pond scum.

Mozzie was in the worst physical condition. His legs were unable to support him for more than a few moments. Despite his infirmity, he reeled off ideas for breaking into the Met at an astonishing clip from his position sprawled on June's sofa.

The living and dining rooms were close enough that Neal could hear Henry's croaks about how Arkham Neal should comport himself. Some of the advice was sound. Gliding gracefully as a swan around the room was apt. A half-smile indicating he knew something no one else did, well yeah. But the personality of a toddler? Peter's quip was surely meant to bolster Arkham Neal's confidence, but still . . . The advice to base his self-control on a three-year-old was definitely uncalled for. When he heard that jab, Neal promptly instructed Arkham Peter in a loud croak to act like a cranky polar bear who'd been transported to the Sahara desert.

By the time Christie called a halt to boot camp, Arkham Neal and Peter were as ready they could make them. June had assigned them a guest room with twin beds. Christie was also staying overnight so she could monitor the frogs' condition.

Jones headed home but promised to be back in time for an ungodly early breakfast. Before he left, he and Diana decided on the schedule for the following day. Jones would drive the Arkham dynamic duo and Diana to work where they'd split up orientation duties. Diana was unusually modest, claiming Jones with his leadership skills was far better equipped to mentor Peter, and she'd assist Neal.

Was she crushing on Arkham Neal? Surely not, but even Christie gave her an amused look. No doubt it was simply the maternal feeling of a writer toward her character, but there was something about Arkham Neal. Neal needed to copy that soulful expression. If it led to even Diana eating out of his hand, it was worth incorporating into his repertoire.

#

Neal had visited New York in his world, but to see how it would look thirty years in the future had him gaping like he was on an alien planet. The architecture, the clothes, the electronics. He kept reminding himself that his world might not necessarily follow the same pattern, but that begged the question of how it would be different. And if they didn't stop Azathoth and his fellow Ymar, there might not be any future at all.

Diana and Jones were worse mother hens than Peter. Unbeknownst to them, Neal was channeling his inner Henry—and not Henry Winslow but Henry Chaseman. What would Henry say when he heard that in this world Neal was the thief with the checkered history? Neal grinned to himself. Taking down a cthylla had done more to boost his self-confidence than any boot camp.

When they returned to Arkham, could he order Lavinia to leave their memories intact? They'd already traveled back in time and visited other planets. How much stranger was this trip, even if at first it was more disorienting?

He and Peter had stayed up half the night joking about how they'd handle it. They might not have worked in a federal bureaucracy, but teaching was in their wheelhouse. This would be their first time to jointly lead a seminar. They were already making plans to incorporate aspects of the heist workshop into their classes at Miskatonic University.

Neal had helped him with wardrobe selection. The style was too formal for his taste. Suit, vest, cufflinks—surely the tie clip was excessive. And who knew fedoras would be back in style? At the university, he could avoid wearing ties. He kept a tweed jacket in his office more for warmth than anything else. And when it came to cutting his hair, that wasn't about to happen. He finally agreed to let Elizabeth snip a little around his collar, but the rest stayed.

Peter had been equally adamant about not wearing makeup. The New Yorkers worried that his tan wasn't realistic until he successfully argued that he could have spent the weekend on the beaches of Long Island.

On Monday morning, they arrived at the Federal Building well in advance of the other agents. By the way Diana's eyes darted around, anyone would think they'd entered ghast central.

"We only have a little over an hour for you to become familiar with the surroundings," she warned. "Did you bring your cheat sheets?"

"Relax," Peter said calmly. "Neal and I are used to memorizing the faces of hundreds of students in our classes. A handful of FBI agents won't be an issue."

At the moment, the only ones with apparent stage fright were Diana and Jones. A grim, determined look was on Jones's face when he opened the glass doors to a large central area he called the bullpen. Neal had yet to coax a smile out of the man, even when he offered to buy donuts for the office.

Upon entering the bullpen, Jones and Diana proceeded to give them a tour of the key areas, including the conference room, restrooms, and breakroom.

"Peter and I will work upstairs," Jones said. "I'll acquaint him with his office and then we'll go over the projector equipment in the conference room. This would be a good time for Peter to practice the double-finger point from the balcony."

"Yes, please do," Neal said, grinning. "I need to practice my snarky look."

Peter gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "This is going to be a long day."

"Excellent!" Diana exclaimed. "You sound just like the boss." Turning to Neal, she pointed out a desk. "That's your workstation."

"The one with the bust of Socrates? You didn't tell me about that. Does Peter have Plato?"

"No, but he should have Julius Caesar," she said. "Did I mention the time he wore a —"

"—Diana!" Jones barked sharply. "You heard our orders. We're to limit ourselves to communicating only essential details, and Peter insists on a full accounting of every word we say."

"Spoilsport," she muttered.

Neal grinned. He could easily relate to this world's Diana. Detective Diana Bristow in his world was much more intimidating. Once they were alone, he'd be able to easily pry the information out of her. He turned toward his desk and with a flick of his wrist tossed his fedora onto the bust, causing even Jones to chuckle.

"Good aim," Jones said. "I leave you in Diana's excellent hands."

"How long did you practice that?" she asked.

He shrugged and gave her what he hoped was a charming Caffrey smile. "Some things just come naturally."

Diana turned on the computer for him. Neal already knew the password. When the monitor lit up, a drawing of a head of a woman appeared on the screen. Neal had told him it was a sketch of Sara as she might have looked during the time of Da Vinci. Neal seemed to be every bit as much in love with her as Neal was with his Sara although New York Neal hadn't known her for as long. Neal longed to ask him more about their dating history, but that was the exact sort of subject he wasn't supposed to discuss. It was a stupid rule as far as he was concerned. Why should it matter?

"Coffee," Diana muttered.

"What about it? I had some with breakfast."

"You always have a mug at your desk. I'll fetch you one from the breakroom."

"You have a coffee machine at work?"

"Sure, and you hate it. You call it swill."

"Then why do I drink it?" 

"Don't ask me." Diana frowned as she glanced toward the breakroom. "There's probably none made since we're so early. That chore will be on me." She studied him a moment. "Open a file. If someone walks in, pretend you're engrossed in it. You're not ready to talk with anyone."

"Overprotective much?" he huffed.

She snorted. "You've been hanging around Caffrey too long. Maybe you _are_ good to go. I'll be back in a jiff."

Smiling, he swiveled to face the computer. Jones had shown him how to access files. Neal clicked on the icon for cases and like magic, a list of items appeared. He ran through the names, hoping there might be something he'd recognize. Frauds, copyrights . . . he couldn't talk intelligently about any of that.

Neal paused at a file with a one-word title—Kate. He simply stared at it for a moment. Kate was in this world too? She'd been dead for over a year in his. Should he open the file? Would it throw him off the task at hand? His hand hovered over the keyboard as he debated. His finger clicked the mouse before he could stop himself.

* * *

_Notes: Diana longed to tell Arkham Neal about the time Peter wore a Julius Caesar costume in The Woman in Blue, and it seems only fair. Arkham Peter had to wear tights when he traveled back to Elizabethan England in Queen's Gambit._

_In Arkham Files, Neal and Kate were engaged when disaster struck. She was killed in a plane crash about nine months before the first story in the series. In the world of Caffrey Conversation, Kate is in prison. She was arrested along with Vincent Adler about eight months ago (at the end of Harlequin's Shadow) and is now in a French prison. Not an easy reality for Arkham Neal to come to terms with._


	4. Leapfrog

**Federal Building. Monday, May 1, 2006.**

Diana stayed longer in the breakroom than she'd intended. Agent Badillo cornered her with photos of his new baby, and yeah, the kid was adorable, but she needed to focus on her kid. The bullpen was quickly filling up. Showtime was almost upon them.

As she darted back to Neal's desk, her stomach twisted into a tight knot. He was staring bleakly at the computer monitor. It was like he was reading the obituary notice of his best friend. Diana felt her hackles rise. Had one of the agents given him a hard time?

"Everything okay?" she asked, keeping her voice casual as she set the coffee mug next to the bust of Socrates. No need to freak him out even more.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He moved the mouse awkwardly then clicked it. His computer skills were still woefully defective. Good thing they'd already planned for Jones to drive the visuals. Neal might look like the Caffrey she knew with his dapper suit, tie clip, and cuff links, but he lacked many of his skills. Hiding his emotions was one of them. Diana's heart clenched to see him so distressed.

"No, you're not," she said quietly and perched on the side of the desk. "What happened? Maybe I can help."

He hesitated for a moment before replying. "I noticed Neal had a file on Kate. I couldn't resist opening it."

Diana cringed inwardly. In Arkham Files, Kate had been Neal's first love. She'd died a little over a year ago in a plane crash. Diana had written her to be sweet and innocent like Neal, not the manipulative con artist and thief that Kate Moreau was in this world.

"Kate's in prison?" Neal asked, swallowing hard.

"That's right and she's nothing like the woman you knew. She's in love with a swindler. She tried to manipulate Neal for her own selfish purposes."

"Was Neal in love with her?"

"I think he was," Diana admitted, suddenly much more sympathetic to what Caffrey went through. "I don't know if this will help but I think Kate genuinely liked him. She'd hoped they could both work for the swindler."

He nodded absently. "She looks exactly like my Kate. I'm starting to understand why we shouldn't linger in your world for long."

"Neal's in love with Sara now," Diana said, going out on a limb. This was also something she probably shouldn't go into, but she needed Arkham Neal to get his head back in the game. "Sara's much better suited for him, and he'd be the first to tell you he's far happier. Our Sara has a lot in common with yours." Diana had relied on Sara to design the Arkham character, but that was hardly something she could explain to Neal.

"Then we're both lucky men. It was just a shock to see Kate . . ." He took a breath. "Talk to me about Hughes. Do you know what his hobbies are?"

As Neal continued to quiz her, Diana relaxed. _Hughes and Jemison, prepare to be dazzled._

**Meanwhile, at June's mansion.**

"What was I thinking?" Peter said in exasperation, his doubts erupting for all to see. "Jemison will think we're mocking her. Hughes will be furious. Jones and Diana may get black marks in their files for complicity in a tasteless joke."

Neal and Henry could roll their eyes at each other as much as they liked. Had Peter become the laughingstock of White Collar? Were his chances of promotion sinking faster than the Titanic?

The four frogs, as Neal had nicknamed them, were gathered in June's living room to await the return of their stand-ins. It was of small comfort that Peter's fluorescent lime-green skin tone had now faded to moss-green. El had been sufficiently reassured to leave them for a business appointment. Christie and Eric were also at work.

"Suit, have some more honey wine," Mozzie pressed. "And stop torturing yourself—"

"—and us—" Neal interjected.

"—with gloomy prognostications," Mozzie finished. "I'm taking this experience as inspiration. It's too late for this year, but next year I plan to issue Spring Peeper Honey Wine. With a delicate infusion of native grasses, it's guaranteed to be a best seller."

"You should be proud of the outstanding boot camp we ran," Henry added, stretching his legs out from the armchair he was sprawled in. "Hughes and Jemison won't suspect anything."

June entered the room. "Good news! Chef Emil said he'll be able to cook dinner for us tonight."

"I've heard Emil's chocolate truffle cake is an excellent cure for alien infections," Henry said hopefully.

She smiled. "I figured you would. I already made the request."

When the doorbell rang, Peter jumped up before June could start for the door. "I'll get it." It was already midafternoon. The workshop was only supposed to take a couple of hours. Peter had directed Jones to tell Hughes that the team needed to leave for a meeting with NYPD to discuss the surge in identity thefts. It wasn't a lie. There was a meeting scheduled, but it was still a couple of weeks off. It was the sort of half-truth Peter gave Neal grief about, and he hoped Neal never found out that he was now doing the same thing.

When he opened the door and saw everyone's wide smiles, he started to relax.

"We should have recorded the session!" Diana crowed. "Neal and Peter were sensational!"

"Jemison and Hughes were so impressed, they ordered lunch brought in and insisted the workshop continue for an extra hour," Jones added.

Gilman winked at Neal Carter. "For two Miskatonic professors, this was in the bag from the moment we started."

"You should have seen their faces when Neal began quoting ancient Egyptian— _in ancient Egyptian_ —at them." Diana grinned. "Ankhesenamun's love poem to Tutankhamun left them speechless."

"Peter stole the show," Neal said, grabbing a chair and placing it near June. "He had Hughes and Jemison get into the mindset of two ancient Egyptian tomb robbers about to pilfer Tutankhamun's tomb. We used some of the imagery from scenes we'd seen in Abydos." He paused to scan the group. "Do you know about that?"

"It was featured in one of my most popular stories," Diana said smugly.

Gilman chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that. You've been dreaming up fiction that records what actually happened in our world."

Neal the frog moved next to Neal Carter. "Which one of your students was the most creative?"

"It was close," Carter confided. "The first round, they were rival thieves and both made obvious mistakes. They insisted on a rematch where they teamed up against Jones and Diana. Peter and I were the third team. I'd have to give the award for creativity to Hughes, but he couldn't match us." He smiled at Mozzie. "We used your suggestion to hide the loot within mummy cases."

Gilman winced. " _Artifacts_ , please." He murmured to Peter. "I'm not so worried about what contamination we're doing to your world as to what your effect is on us."

Neal Carter stood up abruptly, his face grown anxious. An instant later, a brown-skinned woman wearing an old-fashioned tweed suit materialized in the center of June's living room.

Neal smiled in relief. "Lavinia! For a second, I was concerned that Azathoth had dispatched more cthyllas."

"Could he sense the algolnium in the wormhole?" Peter asked in a murmur to Gilman.

He nodded. "His sensitivity grows daily. Did you notice anything different about him?"

"No, did he have an aura?"

Gilman nodded. "A viridian glow."

Neal turned to face the others. "Everyone, this is Lavinia Armitage."

She cut short his introductions. "I already know who you are." She studied them for a moment. "The effects of the cthylla poison appear to be dissipating. Are you experiencing any symptoms other than skin discoloration?"

Peter shook his head along with the others. Their muscle weakness and raw throats had disappeared in the morning.

Lavinia approached Henry. He eyed her warily as if expecting her to jab a finger into his temple, but instead she used a handheld device on him that Peter assumed evaluated their condition. After she'd scanned each of them, she pronounced them to all be in excellent health.

"Your skin will return to their normal hues by tomorrow morning," she declared. "It's time for Neal and Peter to return home. Mozzie and I worked with Milly to correct the anomaly that permitted passage between our worlds. As soon as we return, the measures will be put into effect. In the future, there will be no inter-brane travel. Azathoth and his fellow Ymar will also be unable to invade." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Say your goodbyes. We should leave immediately."

Arkham Neal frowned. "Lavinia, be reasonable. We need more time than that. We've become close to our counterparts in a way that we couldn't be with anyone else, and our paths will never intersect again."

She took a slow breath. Peter suspected that only Neal was able to breach the librarian's stone facade so easily. "Very well. Take a few minutes." She turned to Mozzie. "I too would enjoy speaking with you."

"And afterward, you can't zap our memories like you did last time," Henry said.

She arched an eyebrow. "What's to stop me?"

Henry exhaled. "I could have phrased that better. I realize we probably can't keep you from frying our brain cells if that's what you want to do. But look at it this way. All of us are experts at keeping secrets. Besides, there's no one we can tell since no one would believe us."

Lavinia scanned the room. "Are all of you of one mind on this?"

Everyone nodded except Diana. "Before I cast my vote, answer me this," she said. "If Mozzie and I write additional stories, will our plots affect your lives?"

"They never have," Lavinia said calmly. "In the infinity of universes, your stories dovetailed with events in our world, but they didn't influence it. In five years, if another wormhole were to open between us"—she gave a pointed look at Mozzie—"which it won't, our situations could be radically different. You can write without fear of influencing our lives."

#

The minutes passed far too quickly, leaving Neal to wonder if Lavinia hadn't somehow managed to speed up time. June's house seemed weirdly empty after the trio returned to Arkham. Diana and Jones didn't hang around. Once Eric and El arrived, Henry and Peter would return home as well. Life would return to normal.

Or would it?

Neal continued to mull over events as he and Henry retreated upstairs to the loft to wait for Eric.

"I wish I could be there to see Arkham Henry's look," Henry said, flopping onto Neal's well-worn couch. "I know what my reaction would be."

Neal nodded absently. Could Arkham Neal be right? How else to explain it?

"I'm hereby calling a meeting of the CA club to order," Henry said, breaking into his thoughts. "We formed Conspirators Anonymous at the start of the year to reduce the hidden agendas in our lives. You and Arkham Neal were closeted together in June's study for several minutes. What did you talk about?"

"I gave him the gifts we'd prepared."

Henry smiled. "Man, I wish could be there when Arkham Henry opens his package. I didn't think I'd have a prayer of getting it ready in time, but Mozzie came through."

"His vault of obsolete equipment is unmatched," Neal agreed. "Besides he was inspired by your idea to do something similar for Arkham Mozzie."

"But giving him the gifts couldn't have taken very long," Henry prompted.

"Arkham Neal had opened my file on Kate while he was at White Collar," Neal said, still uneasy about their discussion. "Finding out about her criminal record and discovering that she's currently in prison threw him for quite a loop. The two Kates have different personalities. I think I was able to help him accept the situation."

"He's still grieving over his Kate?"

Neal nodded. "It was a lot easier for me. Kate was never in love with me. Her betrayal quickly demolished my attachment." He gave Henry a careless shrug. "I may be clueless, but even I could read the handwriting on that wall."

"Kate's a good example of what Lavinia was talking about," Henry said. "Our worlds aren't the same, even though the people may bear a remarkable resemblance to each other." He gave Neal a sharp look. "You two discuss anything else? 'Cause something's bothering you, and I know it's not Kate. You've been over her for quite a while."

Neal took a breath. "You're right and the problem is me."

Henry eyed him worriedly. "Are you coming down with new symptoms?"

"In a way. When Arkham Neal fought with the cthyllas, what did you see?"

"I saw him race forward then vanish. I wasn't surprised. That's the way Diana had written it. When Neal channels his algolnium energy he becomes invisible to us poor mortals who don't have algolnium as part of our body chemistry." Henry's eyes widened. "Did you see something different?"

"I didn't think so at the time. That's why I didn't say anything—I figured it was probably just the effect of the cthylla toxin. Arkham Neal looked a little green to me, but heck, so did you."

"But later?" Henry prompted.

"Just now, when Lavinia arrived, Arkham Peter mentioned that Neal glowed. I saw his aura too."

Henry's eyes widened. "You did? That means—"

Neal nodded, finishing his sentence. "—I have algolnium too. I discussed it with Neal. When we were in June's study, he tested me by making himself invisible."

"And you could see the aura?"

Neal nodded.

"Wow," Henry breathed. "Did Neal have any explanation?"

"This is pure speculation, but he thinks that somehow he was able to link with me during that first Christmas visit and a little residual algolnium remained behind." Neal helped himself to a glass of water. He was staying off wine till all the symptoms cleared up, but this was one time he could really use a drink. "You remember that time I saw Beethoven's ghost in Electra's house in January?"

"Yeah, and I thought it was strange that you could see him. I wondered if you were getting psychic."

"I suspected it was because both of us had been linked to Astrena, but Neal thinks there may be something else at play. His friend Milly the Celaenian construct gave him a heightened appreciation of the nature of reality. According to her, in addition to the dimensions we're used to, there's another dimension that the Greeks called the etheric plane. It consists of pure energy. People who are believed to be psychic are actually tapping into that plane. The etheric plane could also be the breeding ground for what we call supernatural creatures. Their DNA has been affected by etheric radiation." Neal broke into a laugh. "I can't believe I just said that!"

But Henry wasn't laughing, and he had a surprisingly thoughtful expression on his face. "After what happened to us and what you just experienced, we'd be stupid to deny the possibility." He shot Neal a quizzical look. "Are you going to tell Peter about this?"

He shook his head. "He has enough worries. Neal isn't going to mention it to Lavinia. It's possible that once she corrects the anomaly that enabled the wormholes, any algolnium present in my system will disappear."

"You'll let me know if you start to have any superpowers?"

"You and Sara will be the first—and only—ones to know." 

#

El had rearranged her schedule to return home early. She wanted to make sure everything was ready before Peter came home. Her co-conspirator wasn't due for several minutes so she took Satchmo for a short walk in front of their house.

Would Peter think she was being silly? She hoped not. After all, they'd planned other special dates over the past few months. They were giving themselves a year for Baby Burke to be conceived. After that, they'd consider fertility clinics and adoption. So far, Baby Burke hadn't made an appearance, but the dates had been spectacular.

She stopped to stroke Satchmo's head. "You're going to love your costume. Promise me, you won't tear it into shreds before Peter sees it."

Satchmo gave a tentative wag to his tail. She'd take that as a _yes_.

The timing was perfect. Peter and Neal had been back at work for three days. As Lavinia had predicted, their skin tones returned to normal during the night on Monday. Peter said that the next day Hughes had been unusually effusive in his praise of the workshop, and perhaps that was part of the problem.

Possibly she was being overly sensitive, but Peter had seemed a little down in the aftermath of their adventure. She could relate. The Arkham team had arrived and left in the blink of an eye. Their world now seemed just a little bit duller. By the time she arrived at June's on Monday, Arkham Neal and Peter had already vanished. She'd counted on being able to spend at least a few more minutes with them.

For Peter, though, she worried that something else was going on. Everyone had made so much out of Arkham Peter and his skillful presentation that her Peter might feel a little envious. There was no doubt the archaeologist with his rugged good looks cut a dashing figure, but she loved her husband not just for his appearance but for who he was. He wasn't saving the world from evil space aliens, but his work in helping New Yorkers was just as vital and much more valued.

A battered Honda Civic rolling up to the curb heralded the arrival of her co-conspirator. El had never seen Mozzie drive a new, clean car. He appeared to have an endless list of contacts from whom he could borrow dilapidated jalopies.

Mozzie flung open the car door, a wide smile on his face. "May the Fourth be with you!"

El chuckled. "I'd never heard that expression till you used it."

"I wish I could say I invented it, but the credit goes elsewhere. I first saw the expression in a fascinating book I read last month. The title is _The Science of Star Wars._ It was written by Jeanne Cavelos, a noted astrophysicist. She provided a wealth of ideas for future Arkham Files stories." Mozzie sighed pensively. "How I wish Dante Atwood could have traveled through the wormhole just one more time. I would have given anything—even my Mozart autograph—for another conversation with him."

"We were both cheated," El agreed. "I didn't get to talk with Arkham Elizabeth either. But I have a theory." She paused dramatically.

He eyed her with avid curiosity. "I'm listening."

"What if Professor Atwood somehow manages to retain the knowledge to create future wormholes? He may need to wait till the Ymar are no longer a threat, but I predict he'll figure out a way for them to visit us again."

"You foresee a new hope," he suggested with a smile. "Then I shall embrace it too."

El was surprised he didn't comment further. His seeming fatalistic acceptance was in itself a puzzle. El had been astonished at how few complaints he'd made over Dante Atwood not being one of the travelers.

Had Arkham Neal played a role? He'd been Mozzie's caregiver that first hectic day, and El had spotted Neal handing Mozzie what appeared to be a letter. It could have been from the astrophysicist. That would explain why Mozzie had been so restrained.

The subject seemed blithely ignorant of her speculation. Mozzie reached into the car and pulled out a large garment bag.

El took the bag from him. "My costume?"

"Yes, and I also have Satchmo's Chewbacca hoodie as well as a couple of lightsabers."

Once they were inside, El opened the garment bag. Janet had outdone herself. Mozzie's girlfriend had taken advantage of her connections with a theatrical costume warehouse to provide El with a Princess Leia costume. "Where's Peter's outfit?" she asked.

Mozzie's eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "Diana overheard us scheming at the Round Table session on Tuesday. She offered to deliver the package to Peter shortly before the end of the workday with the strict instructions that he wasn't to open it till he's parked the car outside your house."

"What's inside?"

"Janet knows he's not enthusiastic over costumes."

"That's the understatement of the century," El muttered.

"Ah yes, I was being generous. He'll find a Han Solo vest and holster. That should be enough to get him in the mood."

Not to mention provide opportunities for still more innuendos. Lightsabers, pistols . . . El would only need to start the CD of _Star Wars_ music for their fantasy night to begin.

"I'd like to cater a special meal for you and Janet to express my appreciation," she said.

"No thanks are necessary. Your idea was enough of a reward. I wouldn't be surprised if even now Janet is turning her skin green. Do you remember Oola, the woman who danced for Jabba the Hutt?"

"That will be Janet? Mozzie, you're a lucky man! And who will you be?" _Please don't say Jabba._

"Boba Fett, who else?" he said proudly. "But that's a rather cumbersome costume. I don't expect it to be on for long."

"Did you tell Neal about May the Fourth?"

"Yes, but I'd first brought it to Sara's attention. We were discussing my upcoming _Doctor Who_ script. She hopes to sneak onto the set. It's doubtful she'll be able to disguise herself as Rose, but I suggested an alternative." A mischievous smile spread over his face. "I then called Neal with a related proposal." He glanced at his watch. "This is Neal's day to be at Columbia. Classes are winding down. Any moment now, he should arrive at his art studio."

_Mozzie, what did you do?_

#

"Is this Mara Jade?" Neal smiled as he held his cell phone to his ear. A poster of Sara as the Star Wars kickass fighter and love interest for Luke had mysteriously appeared on a wall of his studio. 

"Only if this is Luke calling me," Sara said. "I should have realized that when Mozzie approached me, he'd do something for you too. I'm gazing at your poster, and your lightsaber is giving me ideas. I'll have good dreams tonight."

"I can't wait for the fantasy to be real," Neal said, his eyes lingering on Sara's face in the poster.

"Me too. Graduation is now less than a month away!" She paused for a moment. "When Mozzie told me about May the Fourth, I thought it was merely a fun fantasy. Now, after what happened to you earlier in the week, it doesn't seem so farfetched. The force is strong with you, Neal Caffrey," she added, dropping the pitch of her voice.

"I knew that was coming!" Neal said with a grin.

"You're not experiencing any strange sensations?"

"The only force I feel is a yearning for you," Neal quickly assured her. "If there is algolnium in me, I don't see any evidence of it."

"Yet," Sara added pointedly. "This is another reason I need to be there with you. If you start glowing, I want to be there to see it."

"But then you'll need algolnium too."

"Exactly!" she said triumphantly. "And I know how you should administer it. In fact, I'll need several injections."

"Take pity on me! I have another class to go to." At the rate this conversation was going, he would have to head for a cold shower at the gym first.

Sara laughed. "Okay, I'll save the rest for later. But seriously, have you stopped to consider that in some other universe we really are Luke and Mara? Among the infinite possibilities, that must be true."

"The only universe I'm interested in is the one where you're Sara Ellis," Neal said. "I hope Janet will be as much a source of comfort for Mozzie."

"Has he recovered from the loss of the Tudor Crown?"

"It was a huge disappointment but outwardly he's bearing the loss philosophically. He claims that in another universe he was able to fight off the cthyllas and retain the crown. It also helps that he'll fly to London in a month to serve as advisor for the filming of his _Doctor Who_ script."

"I'm glad you brought that up. I wondered if I could entice you into a vacation in England after Angela's wedding. Your classes will be over. Perhaps we'll be able to visit Mozzie on the set."

"I'd like nothing better!" Angela's wedding was scheduled to take place over the Memorial Day weekend. Sara was flying to Seattle to attend. "We could fly to London the day after her wedding."

"Since it's a holiday weekend, you'll have an extra day of vacation. I'll handle all the arrangements. You can call this my graduation gift."

"No, your gift will be attending the ceremony. And, given the length of time it took me to obtain a diploma, an extended celebration is called for."

"This will be a month of celebrations," she declared, "starting right now with May the Fourth. As much fun as we're having with it, I wonder if the idea won't catch on."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Mozzie told me that starting next year he'll produce a commemorative honey mead in honor of the occasion."

It was a lucky break that Mozzie had made the arrangements for May the Fourth in advance of their unexpected adventure. Neal had passed on the set of mementos Mozzie had given him to Arkham Neal. Sara still had her set. They'd serve as a shared remembrance with their otherworldly friends.

**Meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far, away . . .**

"No more freelance work," Henry said with a groan. "I can't believe what I missed out on by taking that job!"

Neal winced in sympathy, choosing not to reveal that Lavinia probably wouldn't have let him go along.

Henry had returned to Arkham on Friday morning. That evening he joined Neal and Sara at her apartment for cheese fondue. Sara had already heard the details, but she seemed as eager as Henry for a repeat account. She also shared Henry's disgruntlement over being left out.

"Our one consolation," Sara said with a sigh, "is that clearly we're as important to Neal in New York as we are in Arkham."

"And you have something else," Neal said, unzipping the gym bag he'd brought along. "I brought back presents." He gave her a small box wrapped in turquoise foil. "This is from New York Neal."

She eagerly ripped off the gift wrap to open the box. Inside was a small statue of a red-headed woman wearing a skintight blue catsuit and holding a long sword. Sara's eyes sparkled. "He captured me perfectly! How did he know?"

"Let me see that," Henry said, extricating himself from the beanbag chair. "That doesn't look like any sword I've seen."

"It's called a lightsaber," Neal explained. "He said we'd need to wait a while then we'd understand. A movie called _Star Wars_ is coming out next year which will explain it."

"I've read articles about it," Sara said. "It's attracting a lot of publicity already."

Sara wrote movie reviews for the paper. Neal anticipated she'd heard of it. "Did the articles mention Luke Skywalker?"

"He's the main character," she said.

Neal grinned. "That explains why New York Neal gave me this." He fished in his bag for the figurine. "Supposedly this is Luke."

"He's wearing a judo jacket," Sara noted. "This proves you'll need to work harder on your martial arts."

"And your fencing," Henry added, "if you have any hope of mastering a lightsaber. I have no idea what it is, but it sounds cool."

Sara frowned. "I haven't heard of a redhead in the movie."

"Your character is named Mara Jade," Neal explained. "She'll appear in 1991."

"That long?" Sara moaned. "I'm glad we don't have to wait till then. Did Neal give you a figurine for Mozzie?"

"Yes, of a character called Yoda. Supposedly he was the great intellect of the series. Haversham also prepared a package for Mozzie. I don't know what all the contents were but there was a letter that made him very happy." Neal retrieved another box from his bag. "Henry, these are for you. The smaller box is from New York Neal."

Henry held the small figurine up. "What's this? It looks like a furry monster."

"It's called a Wookiee," Neal explained, pronouncing it carefully. "His name is Chewbacca and he's one of the main characters. Neal explained that Henry Winslow is particularly fond of him." He pulled out two other characters. "These are Han Solo and Princess Leia and have a special significance for Peter Burke and his wife. I'm going to give them to Peter and El tomorrow but I wanted you to see them first."

Henry shook the other box. It gave a small rattle. "Is this their spaceship?"

"No, it's a present from Henry Winslow."

When Henry opened it, he found a cassette tape. "What's on it?" he asked eagerly.

"A message from him and I haven't heard it. Henry asked if you had a cassette player, and I was glad to tell him you'd purchased one last month." The new tape recorders were just entering the market.

"A message from the alternate me." Henry chuckled, his smile broadening. 

"And there's something else. He knew you like the Rolling Stones. He recorded a song for you that will be released in 1979. It's called _Start Me Up_. He guarantees you'll enjoy it."

"And that's not all Henry Winslow gave you," Sara added, flashing a quick smile at Neal.

"What's that?" 

"A suggestion," she said. "Have you seen Eric recently?"

Henry groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have told you we went out on a date. Eric's nice, but our backgrounds are too different. It wouldn't work out."

Henry wasn't normally such a pessimist. Was that a sign he liked Eric more than he was willing to admit, perhaps even to himself? "New York Henry recommends you give him a chance," Neal said. "You might be pleasantly surprised."

"Matchmaking advice from another world? You gotta be kidding me."

"Don't knock it," Sara said. "Apparently, it worked for Neal and me."

Neal knew that Diana's stories hadn't really influenced their lives, but it was hard to believe there hadn't been some link. New York Henry and Eric were in love. He hoped Henry would find someone who'd make him equally happy. Someday they might be able to compare notes once more with their New York selves. Neal could make a good guess about what was contained in the letter Mozzie received from New York. Not only was it a response to the letter he'd written to Haversham, but undoubtedly made several suggestions on how the two of them could circumvent the restrictions Lavinia was determined to impose.

Neal was convinced that someday their lives would intersect with those of their New York friends once more.

* * *

_Notes: Sara was right. May the Fourth did catch on. Five years later the first organized celebration was held. I enjoyed giving the Arkham and New York characters a shared fantasy to dream about. Star Wars has close ties to Caffrey Conversation as well. The first fanfic Penna wrote had a Star Wars theme.[Written in the Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024276) is canon-oriented, but much of it could fit into Caffrey Conversation. Will the Arkham and New York characters meet again, perhaps next time in a galaxy far, far away? I suspect Mozzie has something in mind, but he hasn't shared his thoughts with me._

_Thanks for reading!_


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